


Sucrose Courting

by sunshineglow118



Series: Sucrosia [1]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: An overall fun time to be had, Baking, Courting Rituals, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Light Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:47:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22955884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshineglow118/pseuds/sunshineglow118
Summary: Dib comes to the realization that Earth will be taken into the Irken Empire. So he decides the only way to insure Earth's survival is to present it at it's best: fix the pollution and make it a bakery planet.in short, Dib courts Zim and the Irken Empire with baked goods, finds love and learns some things about himself.
Relationships: Almighty Tallest Purple/Almighty Tallest Red, Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)
Series: Sucrosia [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055309
Comments: 22
Kudos: 203





	Sucrose Courting

**Author's Note:**

> Back to the madness!

There were times in life where one had to reevaluate the ultimatum of their own existence. All things had a season; on earth, seasons were commonly three months long, four different cycles should you not find yourself on the equator or the polar caps. 24, 48, 72, 96, 120, 144, 168

Dib contemplated the inevitability. His enemy, his rival, Zim, was a competent opponent when he desired to be. Dib had fought the invader for years, trading blows physical and verbal, sabotaging each other, growing stronger with each fight as little scars were left as reminders of past weakness. 

Yet, Dib attributed his true defeat to his father, Professor Membrane. 

Legally, a Krazy House could only hold a person for seventy-two hours unless the patient exhibited signs of homicidal rage or suicidal tendencies. Dib, as he was seventeen when he was dragged in by his father, had no such rights. The man signed away at each paper, a seven day stay advertised like some vacation he consented to, and was escorted to his room, _cell._

Dib measured his time in hours, not days. Days made it seem like the hurt was lessor- the abandonment minimal. The hour had Dib’s guide touring the place. Showing him the brightly light facility where he would be spending his time. Dib walked with the doctor, a man in a white coat, sharp contrast to his own black coat, which had been removed and put into a bag- replaced with standard issue blue uniforms that were ‘easy for cleanup’ yet he knew that the buttons on the sleeves of his arm were meant to be easily torn off and turned into makeshift restraints should he struggle. 

Dib was compliant with his tour, nodding his head, answering when spoken too, even going so far as to thank the doctor when his room, _cell,_ was opened to him. Dib’s head was large, one day he would grow into it, and he grasped the gravity of his situation. 

Dib was a minor, his father had _genetic rights_ to him. If he didn’t behave, did not play the long game, Dib could end up staying in the House

Forever. 

Evening one he cried, tears falling down the side of his cheeks as the half moon provided him enough light to give him hope. By the time the moon was full, he would be out of here. 

Thirty-Six hours after entering, Dib had eaten most of the food provided, thanking the staff and trying to give them a smile before he sat down by himself. The loneliness wasn’t really new- but he missed Gaz’s silent presence, even Zim’s ire. 

By hour forty-eight, Dib begrudgingly admitted that one treatment, non invasive or medicated, actually had the opportunity to work for his mental static. Meditation. He scoffed at the ‘healer’ when the idea was proposed, but remembered he had to cooperate to achieve his freedom. 

Dib sat quietly, with a rock on his stomach as he laid on the ground. The rock was supposed to be a physical reminder to breathe from the stomach, that air could only reach his lungs if he worked his diaphragm. 

Time got a little weird as he came to realizations. 

One: Zim was a formidable opponent. His body had the scars to prove that, but his mind was able to show him the scope of the aliens resourcefulness and skills far superior to his own simply because he lacked the resources the irken had. 

Second: the Empire Zim was sent from was even more formidable. With a collective mindset, resources, superior weapons, victory of the Irken race over the human race was a given. 

Third: humans were the cause of their own inevitable demise. 

After a brief panic, the moon waxing a little more, Dib calmed his breath and thought about where he fit in the picture, as Savior of Earth and Enemy of Irk. 

Irk, one way or another, was coming to Earth. 

Dib put his hands on the cold bars of the window, looking up at the moon as it shone with a supernatural strength, it was talking to him, telling him how to win both wars- against his father, against the Irken Empire. He laughed, mild manic laughter that was quieted by the pillow he shoved in his face until his body requested air by gasping, blue spots on his eyes clearing with oxygen. 

Dib was going to have to play the long game. He smiled to the moon, his teeth reflecting against the gleam of hope. 

Darwin proposed natural selection- that the creatures able to best adapt to the environment were able to survive. 

Be it Dib’s father or the Irken Empire: it was adapt or die. 

Dib’s father had given him a warning, one hundred and sixty-eight hours of a warning. Non-compliance would be met with hostility. 

“Survival of the Fittest.” 

*

Dib was hysterically close to freedom. One door away, on the ground floor even. The doctors had cleared him, going so far as to give him a glowing report in regards to his meditation. But his father was the ultimate test, and he was passing through the door to asses if he was collecting his asset or abandoning it. 

“Hello, son.” Dib behaved as expected, hugging his father close to his chest, squeezing for six and a half seconds while greeting him. The two sat down, his father closer to the exit that almost pained his eyes to ignore in favor of looking at his dad, without a glare but neither too submissive. 

“Your _alien_ friend, Zim, visited on your fourth day here.” 

By hour ninety-six Dib had reevaluated his relationship with the Irken invader, intent on convincing him of friendship. The reason: abandonment. Zim would likely take the bait with a few well placed platitudes and some begging. 

“Dad,” Dib said, giving a light glare to the man, “it is rude to call an immigrant that.” 

Dib shed a tear as he walked out the door, breathing in the tainted air of the planet. 

*

Water was the main natural weapon the planet had against the Irkens. So much as a drop of water on Irken skin burned like acid would on his own. Dib could do nothing about the water supply- humans needed it to survive. The quality of the air was harmed by humans themselves. 

Dib hypothesized the Tallest would destroy the earth for those reasons. What good was a planet that would harm them? What good was a species that harmed their best resources?

So Dib meditated, breathing without the aid of the rock, reviewing all the memories of the Irkens he knew had visited Earth or the ones he had contact with. 

Humans loved oil. 

Irkens loved sucrose.

Conclusion? The survival of earth, and its citizens, depended on the quality of sugar. 

Dib quit his job at the Swollen Eyeball, an odd chain liberated from his throat- the lack of appreciation or recognition was the same as his father’s. Dib took a job at the local bakery and dove into the job with the same tenacity as he once had for the supernatural. His father thought it was a ruse, a clever distraction, especially when Dib proposed he might want to study this in UnIvercity. Dib quickly backpedaled, showing his father the **science** behind baking. There were chemical reactions within the dough that could make a recipe taste good versus amazing. He wrote papers on the science behind sweets. 

At first, his new hobby was to ensure his own survival. If he could present the Tallest good baked goods, then he might be able to live. It went from a job, to an experience, to a passion. If there was one thing that humans loved more than sex, it was sucrose. 

“So the Dib-stink returns,” a voice said over the chime of the bell above the door. Dib had his back to the Irken. 

_Phase Two: Befriend_

Dib smiled as he turned, a sheet tray of fresh glazed donuts making his own mouth water. Dib set the tray on the clear counter, shivering with glee as the invader’s wig twitched, no doubt scenting the sucrose within the dough he finished rolling. He couldn’t change one-eighty on his enemy, no, he was playing the long game. In order to win the Irken over, he must remain prideful while appealing to the pride of the Irken. 

“Hello Zim.” He swung the white cloth over his shoulder, grabbing the ends so they mimicked a collar on the back of his neck. “You must have missed me terribly.”

“ _Lies,_ Zim did no such thing.” 

“Then why are you here?” He smiled down at the alien. He changed his attitude, waving his hand as he pushed the tray forward to tempt him. When the Irken hissed at him, flinching his body back, Dib rolled his eyes. 

“Zim,” Dib said, propping his hip on the side of the counter, “If I was going to kill you, I would kill you in a way that you deserve.” He picked up a donut and inspected it. “I would take my time with you, learning your superior body, and giving it the attention it deserves.” he put the donut down and grabbed a pink box. He went on packing some, ignoring the strangely quiet alien. “After all,” he said. “I would expect you to do the same. We are _rivals,_ and my attention is solely on you.” 

He handed the box to the Irken, who only hesitated for a moment before claws snatched it from his grasp. Dib said nothing at the little amount of blood he drew, licking the wound as the creature retreated. 

Part of fishing required the right bait. 

The donuts fit the hook perfectly. 

*

Dib surprised himself as much as Zim did. Their new relationship was built on the foundation of the donuts he had given Zim. Zim had returned three days later, demanding more. Dib demanded payment, stating there would be no way for Dib to continue to make such goods without monies. Zim handed over the dough as Dib passed his own over, making sure to add some Danish to the box for free. 

Zim arrived back a day later, this time requesting an explanation of the sugary products. 

Dib was more than happy to explain. He spoke about the different pastries, first with the intention of enticing the Irken to buy a large variety (the more products the Irken liked that he created, the better chance of survival he, and the Earth, had) but he soon spoke freely about the process of making the sugar. Zim explained that Gir would no longer eat donuts from the store, which Dib took as a bigger compliment than any human who expressed their love of food. Gir’s survival did not depend on his consumption of food. He ate freely, without care of consequence. When the creature encountered something he did not like, he did not eat it, going so far as to destroy anything that displeased him. Like dog, like man, he supposed. 

Dib, in his meditation that night, recalled all of the times Zim did something for the robot, even if he didn’t want to. The waffles incident came to mind, Zim bloating himself on soap filled waffles to appease the crying robot. 

If Dib could become irreplaceable to Gir, Gir could single-handedly assure his survival towards the Irken Invader. 

The Gir Cookies were the next on his list. First, Dib reviewed everything that the robot enjoyed to eat. Tacos were out of the question for baked goods- currently, perhaps once he got better at baking could he combine more savory ingredients into his dough. The robot enjoyed bees and waffles: honey and syrup...refined sucrose. With that in mind, Dib went through several pounds of dough and sugar until he came up with a good syrup cookie, but it wasn’t on par to satisfy his survival instincts in relation to the robot. 

So he went to a bee farm and harvested his own honey, being kind to the female bees as he took their produce without being stung once. It was a surprisingly fun adventure; at the farm, a farm boy showing him how to smoke the bees, stealing ‘samples’ before putting the rack of honey into a harvester, he had himself five jars of homemade, handcrafted honey. After five more days of experimenting, the cookies were made to his survival satisfaction. A beautiful flakey dough, saturated in sugar and honey that would melt on the tongue. 

“Bring Gir, next time you come.”

“Why, _human?”_ Zim said it with a hiss, but his butt was resting counter, a recent development. 

“Because if you don’t, and he finds out, you’ll never hear the end of it.” Dib no longer ate the food he made, his body sometimes gagging because of the repeated sweetness. The benefit of working at a bakery was that he always had food available. The cons were extensive: fat content would risk his physique and when he ate too many of his own goods, he would grow ill. Plus, there was something to be said about treats being, well, treats. 

“You’re fighting dirty, human.”

“As if you would accept anything less.” 

Later in life, when Dib was living in the comfort of the Tallest’ Quarters, Zim at his side, he would realize this was all considered flirting. That he was verbally dancing with his nemesis, weaving in and out of insults gracefully rather than dodging the sharp arms of PAK legs. 

The irken brought over his robot, disguised on with a little vest that marked him as a service animal. Gir was hovering in excitement, no longer concerning Dib as humans were oblivious and he had already closed shop. This was a special, personal, mission. 

“Treats!” Gir shouted, clapping his hands against the glass and looking at the donuts and cookies that were going into the trash rather than the homeless, something that irked him. 

“I made you special treats, Gir,” Dib said, walking through the swinging door to grab them. He heard the less than muffled attempts at calming the robot, Zim then talking to himself about robbing all of the sugary treats. 

“Now there is an idea.” Dib thought of how to spin it to the alien as he grabbed the honey cookies. Originally, he tried to get them to the shape of Gir’s face, but the dough was too delicate. Instead, he made them as close to the Irken symbol as he could without being blatantly obvious. Dib walked out of the main bakery to the lobby area with his back opening the door, allowing himself to be carefree and dramatic as he swung around and put the cookies on the top of the tray, where Gir couldn’t reach without hovering. Taking a chance, Dib reached over the counter and gently grabbed Gir, careful of his hover mechanism, and sat him on the glass. 

“I know how much you like bees,” Gir gave a dramatic gasp, “so I made you special honey cookies.” He placed one on the paw of the robot and watched as he inhaled it, then paused. 

“Thank you,” he sniffled, taking another one from the tray. “I love you, Mary,” he ate the other one, actually taking his time to chew before reaching for a third. 

“You dare face the bees?!” Zim sounded affronted. Dib rolled his eyes and waved his hand, as if he hadn’t faced a great enemy of the Irken race. 

“I understood that the only person allowed to kill me was you. I took precautions.” As Dib reached for one to give to his rival, his friend, he missed the purple blush on the Irken’s face in favor to deal with the received red eyes and a growl from the robot. 

“The only way to get more is to share? Understand?” Dib did not blink at the robot, waiting for him to yield with a head hanging low. Dib smiled and lifted the robots chin, taking the cookie meant for Zim, and held it out for the robot, who opened his mouth comically wide with an ‘ahh’ sound. Dib chuckled, grabbing a cookie for Zim yet froze at the other’s expression. 

Zim was dumbfounded, never had he been able to take something beloved of Gir without nearly getting his leeku ripped from his skull either by hands or screams of outrage. And here his nemesis was, in a peaceful, yet terrifying way, making the robot yield, yet not making an enemy from his SIR unit either: giving him the thing he tried to take. The Dib was tall, acting like a Taller, acting like The Almighty Tallest Purple the way he commanded respect of his underlings.

Dib blinked and his shock was gone, replaced with a strange coyness. He extended his fingers holding the cookie to Zim’s lips, far enough away that if the alien wanted it, he could take it with his lips but if he did not want that, the alien could lean back and accept it with his three fingers. 

Zim surprised himself and the human when he extended his tongue, wrapping it around human fingers to draw into a dangerously sharp mouth. Dib’s heartbeat skyrocketed, his brain stalled as Zim licked the cookie free of his fingers, yet the honey and some of the dough was stuck to his fingers. Dib gently pulled his fingers free, eyes not leaving the alien. 

“Mary. Mary MaryMaryMARYmary...mary...mama! Mama!” 

As far as Dib was concerned, the new title meant his mission of befriending the robot was a roaring success. The three went on eating the cookies, Dib and Zim in silence as Gir entertained himself with the treats. 

“Well,” Dib said, his face flushed as he looked at the few treats contained in glass. He slid the door open, moving Gir’s legs as he removed the remaining pastries and put them into a pink box. He handed them to Zim, who reached back into his PAK, likely where a wallet was hiding. “My boss makes me throw them out. Come back nightly for the extras and you get them for free.” 

When he meditated that night, a new moon overhead, he realized that his plans were working. Zim was seeing him as a friend, someone that he could trust if he was willing to bring his most loyal companion to the shop, during closed hours. 

The only problem was that Dib was seeing Zim as something more than a friend. He did not have to offer the leftover baked goods to him. He did not have to feed or even invite Gir over to the bakery. His actions were organic, subconscious. 

Like the House, there was panic- humans did not do well with change. He calmed his breathing and with it, his mind centered itself, going past denial and anger, to acceptance. His relationship to Zim was the only thing that made him escape the House; to come up with something as ridiculous as understanding the inevitability of the human race being eradicated by the Empire. He manipulated Zim into liking him enough that he would survive. He manipulated himself enough to liking the enemy. Zim was his savior-

It was only right he savor it with something as volatile as love. 

Dib came out of his meditation with a smile, burrowing deeper into the sheets as he drifted to sleep.

*

Zim insisted several times that he was moving Dib into his base because Gir would not stop begging for treats. Dib was nervous of his place in the base, as a slave, a mate? He was unsure of what his title was, other than mama to Gir. 

He still had his job at the bakery, within walking distance of Zim’s base. Having a friend to walk to Skool with was...nice as well. 

On his return, from skool or the bakery shop, it became apparent that Dib was structure the base needed just as Zim was the stability he needed. Zim provided him someplace safe to sleep, away from his father, who would occasionally verbally poke Dib to see if he was still ‘cured.’ Dib was cured in the ways his father wanted, no longer hunting the supernatural, tainted in others- pursuing baking rather than something like biology. But his father couldn’t argue the delicious results of Dib’s pursued scientific field. 

Dib lasted, unmolested, one hundred and forty-four hours before Zim tackled Dib to his nest, ripping off his clothing, and mating the human. When Dib woke in the morning, new claw marks, rubbing burns from the PAK legs that pinned his arms above his head as Zim thrust his hips into him, that he felt content. 

Dib didn’t even realize when he had implemented stage three of his plan until they were onto stage four- the summoning of the Empire. 

“What happens when a planet is conquered by the Irken Empire?” 

“The Control Brains assess the assets of the planet and determine its usefulness.” 

Dib was silent, already suspecting the answer to his next question. 

“And if a planet has no use?” 

“The race is exterminated and everything destroyed to be mined for materials.” 

He imagined the earth in several floating chunks, slowly being harvested for nothing other than use. Dib would not allow that to happen. 

“Well, if I was an Almighty Irken,” Dib hummed as Zim purred at whatever fantasy was running through the aliens head, “I would make Earth a sustainable bakery planet.” 

Zim’s silence was enough of an answer for him. Dib allowed the Irken to mull the idea over, then moved lower onto his body, reaching to pull the sheets off between his mates leg, prompting the petals to unfold as he took them into his mouth. 

*

Dib watched quietly as Zim spoke to his Tallest, giving his leaders an update on his vague plan. His palms were a bit clammy, the beating of his heart a little faster with tension. 

“An informant?”

“A _Human_ informant?” 

“Yes, my Tallest, he has been most...inspiring towards the good of the Irken Empire.” 

“And that requires secrecy?” 

Zim looked at him, red eyes sending a nonverbal message to emerge from his corner, a large pink box in his hands. He bowed to the two, saying nothing as he was not addressed, then turned to set the pink bakery box on the table, the best of the best products resting inside. 

“Such a large head,” Red commented, moving closer to the screen to get a look at him. 

“My Tallest,” Dib said, bowing slightly again. Tallest Red seemed pleased while Tallest Purple seemed skeptical. 

“At least someone taught you manners.” Red said. Dib stood square, his feet and shoulders in line with a straight back, hands behind his back as he stood at attention. 

“Why forsake your race?” Purple questioned. 

Dib would rather be killed outright for being honest. Or as honest as they expected him to be. He had won over Zim by giving him his heart, he won over Gir by winning over the robots artificial stomach. He needed to win over the Tallest, to keep them from executing him and now, from his mate. 

“I have been abandoned by mine. Invader Zim is the only one who hasn’t done so.” 

“He should be dominating you.” Purple leaned forward, eyes darting between the two on the other end of the screen. Dib bowed his head lightly, a smirk on his lips. 

“I can assure you,” he said, looking at the both of them. “He does. Often.” 

At Zim’s scoff, Red laughed but Dib’s attention was on the Tallest Purple. His lip quirked slightly, letting Dib breathe a little easier. 

“As a sign of good faith, I have made you a gift for your consumption and pleasure.” 

Zim hit several buttons on his pad, the Computer already scanning the baked goods over to the Tallest own for processing. Zim too recognized the importance of Dib’s meeting the Tallest- making a good impression on them. He also understood the fastest way to their mercy was through their equivalent taste buds. 

The Tallest only had a bit more impulse control than Zim originally did, accepting the box of sweet treats once they passed the inspection of harmful ingredients. Their lekku twitched forward when they opened the box, the smell wafting through the air. Dib and Zim waited on baited breath as they each took a donut, the most familiar of the variety of goods. 

When they shared a moan, they looked down at the box, then each other. 

“You may proceed with your secrecy,” Purple said, taking another slow bite of the donut, reaching for one of the honey cookies with his other hand as Red dove for three donuts, one on each finger. 

“Updates- with these.” 

“Of course, my Tallest,” they both said, with a bow of their heads. 

The transmission ended, Dib was slammed onto the floor and conquered. 

*

Zim and Dib worked on transforming the planet into what would become a giant bakery. First, was tainting meat, intentionally killing off livestock with a disease. This was counterproductive to many of the ingredients that went into baking, but the culling of the creatures kept in factories was more of a mercy than it was a genocide. That’s how Dib justified it, at least. The humans that harmed the creatures lost their jobs, then the ability to feed themselves, then their lives. Those that were ethical in their farming, the livestock lived. 

It was a combination of the Computer analyzing the habits of farms, Zim making a virus for the various species of livestock, and Gir injecting a cure into the livestock of the creatures that were happy and healthy, as deemed by the robot. 

With less methane produced, and humans to perpetrate it- a third of humanity lost to a mysterious plague carried by all kinds of non-sentient creatures, the atmosphere began to heal. Three years passed, the two of them working together on healing the Earth’s surroundings so the rain or any water would not harm the Irkens, insuring the planet and species overall survival. 

In that three years, Dib learned more about the Tallest in their quick communications. He noticed that the two were extremely tactile creatures, always near or touching the other, going fat as to intertwine their lekku together. Knowing how sensitive that spot was to ZIm, he recognized they were likely to be mates. The moment of realization was an....incident. 

Dib was naked, save for the black baker’s apron he traded for with his trenchcoat. His body was pressed against the couch, torso pressed against the arm of the couch as Zim hunched over him. Tentacles wrapped around his thigh and cock both massaging him closer to completion while squeezing him from release. Dib moaned into the couch, his arms bracing against the seat to keep his neck from getting a crick. Zim’s tongue was licking the sugar that acted as perfume to Dib’s skin. Years in the bakery had changed his scent, sucrose clinging to his pores, sweat sweeter. Dib whined, bucking his hips back as he felt the petals around Zim’s main mating organ unfurl, latching onto his skin with further pleasure receptors. Zim was lost to his lust, saliva dripping onto the well of Dib’s spine as he penetrated his mate, holding his hips in place with three-fingered hands. 

“Tallest,” Dib whimpered. 

That had to be conditioned into him while the term ‘god’ had to be conditioned out. Zim accepted no human deity and Dib realized with the Irken Empire on its way, he was better off learning how to properly assimilate to Irken culture. Not that he was complaining- the technology ZIm had alone was a wet dream. 

Dib’s eyes shot open when Zim thrusted forward again, his cock acting on it’s own accord and pumping into him. He cried out when Zim scratched his back, three lines rising to the surface of her dermis. Brown eyes caught movement from the side, his face flushed when he looked at the TV, turned on to The Tallest, who were watching them both with a predatory gaze. He saw the Computer silently take the box of baked goods and deposit them to the Massive. 

“Tallest!” he cried again, unsure if it was because of the spot Zim continued to hit within his body or because he was trying to get Zim to notice his leaders watching them both have sex. He could’ve turned his head at any point, his face flushed beyond excursion to embarrassment when his body squeezed in pleasure as Tallest Red sat back with the cookies popped into his mouth. Tallest Purple smirked, two donuts on his finger, slowly licking the rim’s sugar off, then diving between finger and donut. 

Dib screamed when Zim climaxed, the petals squeezing around his cock, Zim’s own ribbed cock expanding with little nubs, barbs catching on his insides. By the time he floated back to earth, the transmission was cut. Dib wasn’t sure if Zim knew the Tallest were watching them both mate, but his jaw hurt too much to say anything about it. 

It seemed the Tallest enjoyed touch as much as Zim did, given that they _watched._

He meditated on what to do, how to make it that humans wouldn’t be enslaved on a mass scale for menial labors. His answer came when he was in a mall, by the scented lotions. A man gave him a sample of brown sugar lotion, then massaged it into his skin. His hand felt better than it had in years, the cramps from turning over dough more rigorous than he thought when he made the plan in the beginning. 

His next adventure was to massage school. 

*

Ten years had passed since his realization in the House, his abandonment of the human race. During that time, he had grown his baking skills to the point where he felt comfortable talking relatively freely with the Tallest when it came to baking, ignoring the one event. He showed off his skills once, in the beginning of his massage career, as a gesture of servitude to appease the Tallest Purple, who was often skeptical of his loyalties. 

Zim was on one of the tables, a red heating lamp keeping the Irken calm. Dib was not wearing a shirt, loose pants, barefoot, and a collar around his neck. He was concerned his Tallest seeing him willingly submit to a lesser race would have him executed. Dib understood his concern and conceded, knowing that when he was done with the conversation, that he would likely be thrown to the floor and well…

One of the strange things that happened was Zim’s growth spurt. As they conquered, Zim grew in height. Now, the human race was peaceful, mainly vegetarian as animals were now kept happy for their produce- seen as nigh sacred. The atmosphere after The Great Plague had benefited from the lack of humans polluting the planet. The water had mysteriously been purified, as if overnight. Some claimed god, others aliens. Zim and Dib were both unsure of why Zim had grown, but they both knew that it caused Zim horrible pain. 

Zim showed his gratitude towards Dib’s skilled fingers often. 

Dib was already massaging Zim’s back when the transmission connected, baked goods immediately scanning now- a sign of trust Dib understood the degree of. While it had only been, what, _one,_ Irken year since Dib enacted his plan, the Earth was ready for delivery. 

Tallest Purple and Red were silent as Dib serviced the Irken soldier, taller than the human who rubbed his long spine. They sat and watched as the human rubbed something into Zim’s flesh, making him moan with soft pleasure. This was different than the mating they had witnessed not that long ago. Zim allowed himself to be vulnerable, but the two leaders recognized the type of collar around the human’s neck- one wrong move and the human was dead. Tallest Purple summoned one of the PAK monitors, tapping into Zim’s system and analyzing the pleasure sensors until the monitor exploded from his defective code. 

The human must have noticed them both watching, like before, freezing for a second before returning to his original task when Zim growled. The Dib-human bowed his head, silently greeting them with lips rather than vocal cords. 

The two enjoyed the snacks as the human serviced his Irken like a proper mate and slave. They shared a look, nodded, then cut the transmission. 

“Set course for Euth!” Tallest Purple shouted. 

*

The day the Empire arrived, Zim had packed his base in case they decided to kill on sight. Zim, Gir, and Dib were welcomed into the Armada, escorted to the Tallests chambers. 

Naturally, Dib brought with him edible life insurance in the form of baked goods and a backpack full of his massage equipment, compacted courtesy of Zim. 

“Almighty Tallest,” they greeted, bowing and keeping their eyes low. For Dib, this was the moment of truth, if ten years of preparation had paid off, saving the earth while saving his mate.

Who said he wouldn’t have his cake and eat it too. 

“I must say, Zim, I had my doubts,” Tallest Red said. 

“I present to you, the Earth.”

“I want the human to tell us why we had to wait a year to know of the plan.” Tallest Purple reached out, Dib flinching as he expected to be struck, surprised when claws ran through his hair, a reminder of the proximity of his death. 

“We were aware that the Earth was unsustainable for Irken life, given the pollution humans caused. You deserve honesty. I was selfish. I knew earth would be conquered by your Empire, but with the stipulation of its demise. I’m aware of your...tastes.”

“You bribed us?” Red asked, caught between impressed and enraged. 

“Think of it as insurance for my survival.” Dib waited, his heart in his throat. Dib presented the Irken Leaders new apple cider donuts, Palmiers, a large assortment of cookies, and several cupcakes, all contained in a pink box. 

“The Irken Empire can appreciate that.” Red said. Dib breathed a sigh of relief, yet aware of the danger they were both in. 

“Zim was responsible for the annihilation of the humans who caused the pollution, as well as the revival of our natural resources.”

“You believe you can make this a snack planet?” Tallest Purple asked Zim. Zim was tall enough to look his leaders in the eyes as an equal now. 

“Yes. While humans are _vile_ creatures, they have sucrose, the main ingredient in Dib’s gifts.” 

“Sucrosia.” The Tallest accepted the pink box Dib held up to them, popping the lid open and diving into the sugary goods without question, moaning with delight. 

Sucrosia, formally known as Earth, now occupied by the Irken Empire as they expanded to greater reaches of wild space. 

*

For Dib’s service to the Irken Empire, he was given a PAK at the insistence of the Tallest to the Control Brains so he could continue to live in servitude to his mate and leaders. The process was painful, the machine snapping into his spinal cord as his body was pumped full of chemicals that would allow him to have an extended life. Learning to use the PAK legs took time, coming to several insults of lesser Irkens. 

Oddly enough, it was the Tallest that defended him before Zim could, throwing the laughing Irkens out the airlock. 

When Dib was meditating that night, learning his new PAK and how to control his body, he realized he had imposed the same courting rituals as he had Zim- feeding them sugar. 

Zim was promoted to Tallest as well, coexisting as a third to the Tallest Red and Purple. Dib was a slave to the Tallest three now, retiring to Zim quarters at night. 

The Tallest were affectionate with Zim, touch shared and exchanged as they spoke to each other about plans, throwing insubordinates out the air lock, or feeding on Dib’s creations- a ‘lab’ not far from their living quarters. 

It all came to a head when Dib turned twenty-eight. Time got weird with the PAK on his back as well as no longer having a sun to dictate how long his body had been awake. He was still mostly human, his aging slowed while his body processed energy from food at a slower, yet more efficient rate. It was like a fountain of youth strapped to his back- he could go days without sleeping, when he needed it- it was only for eight hours. His recovery, both in battles in the bedroom and sparing with the Tallest Three, more entertaining. He was in his bakery lab, experimenting with new ingredients from across the world, when Gir summoned him. 

“Mama!” he shouted, launching himself until he hung like a koala onto his back, arms around his neck. “Master wants you!” he said. Dib hummed, reaching a hand to scratch the robot’s antena until the creature relaxed against his back. Dib remained in the lab for several more hours, Gir sitting atop his PAK and receiving treats when he was good. 

He did not hear the Irken enter the lab, nor knew what was happening as he was spun around. His own PAK legs acted instinctually, balancing him on the ground as he went to strike, but stopped when he saw the Tallest Purple looming over him. 

“Hello Dib-human,” he greeted, his face close to his own. Dib swallowed thickly, hand moving to grab any weapon he had near. “We summoned you.” Dib was hoisted up onto his legs, the two’s arms interlocked so Dib was standing close to the Tallest. Purple was trying different ways to fit his three fingers into Dib’s five. 

“We should remove two of these,” Purple said, running claws over the fingers to inspect, feeling the pinky and ring finger. 

“If you do that,” Dib said, worried for his two fingers, “then I won’t be able to make good pastries. I need _all_ my fingers for kneading dough.” 

“Then I guess,” Purple sighed, “they can stay.” 

Dib had an odd sense of foreboding as the two walked to the Tallest Chambers. The recent touches from Red and Purple were extended to him. When Zim and Dib presented the Earth to the Tallest, they were oddly accepting of the invader they once exiled. Dib first thought it was a way to lull them into a false sense of security, but Zim was aware of their orders, and did nothing of it. They had both been stamped with the seal of approval from the Control Brains, therefore, water under the bridge. Dib knew his survival continued to be based on the pleasure of the Tallest, Zim now included in that list, so he made sure to put forth the same effective measures that won Zim over. 

Massaging the two, in the beginning, was a bit awkward because he knew, when he was done with the two, they went off to have sex. The Tallest were not concerned with modesty, so they made no qualm over mating wherever they pleased in their Chambers. After a month of walking in on them, in various stages of coupling, Dib and Zim got used to it. A half human year later, Dib and Zim no longer cared if the two observed their own mating rituals. 

However, Dib would always find himself flushed if the two would talk, especially if they would instruct Dib on different ways to please his master. 

Dib froze at the door to the main chamber of the Tallest’ room. Red had Zim pinned to the bed, naked and PAK legs holding him down. 

“You see, human,” Purple moved him forward to the bed. “We have found both of your gifts extremely pleasurable.” 

“We’ve decided to reward you both.” Red had his petals wrapped around Zim’s, whose head was thrown back and eyelids fluttering. 

Acceptance to the Hive of the Tallest apparently included a mating ritual from the Tallest the irken originated from. A clan leader giving an indoctrination to a new leader. Dib was strapped to a chair, unable to do anything other than watch as Purple and Red took their turns mating Zim. The ritual ended with Dib and Zim in the center of the nest, Purple and Red flanking them as the two fell into an exhausted sleep. When Dib woke, it was to the Purple smirking down at him, Sucrosia floating like a marble in black silk behind the window. 

“I’m impressed with your ability to make yourself indispensable.” Purple ran a hand through his hair, playing with the cowlick. “You can attribute your survival to your cunning. But you can attribute your inclusion in the nest,” he looked at Tallest Red and Zim, “to your successful courting.” 

He laced his three fingers with Dib’s five, pressing his chest closer to the swell from Dib’s pack, which only served to squish him deeper into the nest. 

Dib smiled, blinking up at the leader, then made the closest thing he could to a purr ( a low hum) and snuggled closer to Zim, his other arm draped over onto Tallest Red. 

All and all: mission success. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love you all! Comment if you enjoyed.


End file.
